Escape Artistry
by Typewriter Enthusiast
Summary: City lights shine bright; sometimes, bright enough to conceal its citizens even from themselves.
1. And Now You Don't

**DISCLAIMER**: Most of the characters and the universe this story is set in are from Gossip Girl.

He finds something otherwordly within the sound of a school locker opening, and how the swinging door has the potential to temporarily seal him from his surroundings.

The boy knows the value of this small sanctuary better than most. While his fingers search for the books he'll need during the coming weekend, he blocks out the noise around him, as one of many similar conversations he's had with his father in the past plays in his head about his high school choices. While he had insisted good grades would look good regardless of where they came from, his father played the "give you opportunities I never had" card at all the right moments.

And since he knows how much it _costs_ to be where he currently is, he tries to make the most of these occasional shelters of sanity during the day. Other than that, he keeps his nose clean and hopes that the next few years go by faster than he thinks they will. He's a patient person, but there's only so much patience he feels one can spare to his classmates at St. Jude's.

A pocket of chatter behind him breaks his 'bubble' as he's double-checking his backpack. The boy closes his locker and follows behind a group of six or seven students on their way out. There's loud cheering, much false bravado and hopes of another amazing night on the town later on.

He remembers Ralph Ellison's words, reciting them in his head. Even if written from an entirely different context, they seem almost applicable now.

_**I am an invisible man**_**.**

"So Nate, are you coming with us or what?"

"Oh, he most definitely is," someone speaking barely above the tone of a whisper answers for Nate; this 'Nate' being none other than Nathaniel Fitzwilliam Archibald, and damned is he who doubts that this is not a name fit for a king or a future president. His father is a big-shot business magnate, a man that only answers by Captain Archibald (and the thought that most of his friends must never bother asking what his real name is amuses the boy shadowing them to no end).

_**No, I am not a spook like those who haunted Edgar Allan Poe; nor am I one of your Hollywood-movie ectoplasms.**_

"Why are you pushing so hard today, Chuck? You know I have …" (Chuck is Charles Bartholomew Bass, heir of Bass Industries; he believes this introduction always suffices)

"… You cannot mean that petty competition Blair signed up for? Nathaniel, your first-lady can win a dozen of those a week if she so desires. Why would you waste time surrounded by those literary types when you can join _me_ and experience the very things _they_ long to write about?"

The boy's eyebrows shoot up at the mention of the word _literary_, but he keeps quiet, his footsteps lost behind their laughter and teasing towards each other.

_**I am a man of substance, of flesh and bone, fiber and liquids—and I might even be said to possess a mind.**_

They haven't left the school premises yet, but Nate seems to have already agreed to enter the town car Chuck claims is waiting for all of them. Just another corridor or two now …

"Daniel!"

The voice comes from behind them and startles the boy. He turns around and sees Professor Hawthorne walking his way. He looks back once, only to see Nate and Chuck's small entourage crossing the doors, letting New York's mild wind in for the briefest of moments.

They never paused to begin with.

_**I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me. Like the bodiless heads you see sometimes in circus sideshows, it is as though I have surrounded by mirrors of hard, distorting glass.**_

Daniel doesn't sigh; this doesn't sting, it doesn't hurt. These aren't his friends and he has no love for this place.

"Professor Hawthorne," he greets the man only now approaching him, Daniel's calmest smile pasted to his face. "Is something wrong?"

"Oh, no, not at all! I was just wondering if you could do me a small favor."

"Nothing illegal, I hope," he quips. Just the kind of humor you are expected to hit a teacher with. And Hawthorne laughs.

"Of course not! I simply need you to deliver this – he presents a sealed envelope and offers it to Daniel – to Professor Abernathy. I'd do it myself, but I'm in a bit of a hurry, you see."

_Sure you are. _"Yeah, I understand. Where can I find him, sir?"

"Oh, he should be at the auditorium. This year's ladies' essay competition between New York's finest institutions will be held there today. In less than 15 minutes, actually, and he's one of the hosts, so if you could …"

"Consider it done. Have a good weekend, Professor." Daniel doesn't really pay attention to Hawthorne's parting words, if there are any; it takes him less than five minutes to reach the auditorium, which makes the boy wonder what kind of urgency prevented Hawthorne from doing this himself.

Constance Billard School for Girls shares its space with St. Jude's, forming a co-ed powerhouse inside New York's educational system. You make it here, you make it to Ivy – and, even though he has a hard time admitting it to himself at times … that is _exactly_ where Daniel wants to be.

He wastes no time surveying the auditorium – filled with what he assumes are family members and faculty members – in search of Professor Abernathy.

"Mr. Humphrey," his professor greets him. He likes Abernathy. "What brings you here?"

He offers the envelope.

"And where is Hawthorne?"

"He said he was in a hurry, sir. That's all I know."

"I see. Well, since you're already here, why don't you take a seat?"

"Sir?"

Abernathy looks at his student from over his glasses. "I understand you're quite interested in literature, Daniel. While this is a ladies-only competition – his professor sighs, apparently displeased with the gender restriction – I'm sure you'll find at least some of it to your liking, yes?" he says, giving Daniel a pat on the shoulder and a discreet wink before leaving. Looking around, he decides his teacher may have a valid point and finds a quiet corner at the back of the auditorium, resting his backpack on the floor next to him.

Considering the usual flair these institutions carry themselves with, he finds the whole ceremony rather simple. The finalists are presented one by one, rising from their seats briefly, with small parts of their essays presented to the public. Some of it bores Dan half to death – there are more political pieces that don't even feel like they were written by high-school students.

But some stand out; there is decent prose here and there, and even a very intelligent counterpoint made with turn-of-the-century authors' quotes at some point. A particularly provocative essay comes from Constance Billard's top bet, Blair Waldorf. There's assertiveness into her writing that he appreciates; this is clearly not a girl that likes to be contradicted, and she makes a solid effort _not to be_.

Daniel plays the name in his head for a few seconds before he realizes that's probably Nate Archibald's girlfriend. Only partially able to see her from where he is, Dan wonders if her constant staring at her own lap means she's checking her phone for signs of her boyfriend – or her family, for that matter; she seems surrounded by other students as it is.

His curiosity is sated when Blair is finally proclaimed – to Daniel's complete and pointless agreement – the winner of the competition, rising from her seat delicately and climbing the steps to receive the award.

_She walks like she's used to this_, he thinks, clapping absent-mindedly. While it bugs him that her own boyfriend wouldn't want to be here to witness this, it isn't nearly as disconcerting to him as the fact that her family isn't there – Daniel makes a mental note to find out is she has any family to begin with.

There are pictures being taken now, and some people are already rising from their seats when Daniel listens to the lonely click of a camera close to him. A row ahead, some five seats to his right, a girl puts her camera down, checking a photo and shaking her head.

He is not entirely sure why he feels the need to move a few seats closer and open his mouth, but he does it nevertheless.

"Bad angle?" he whispers, instantly regretting it. Dark brown eyes turn to meet his; at least she's not spooked, nor offended by the question. She even smiles. Lightly.

"Oh, no; money shot, actually. See for yourself," she offers the camera. Dan takes a quick peek at the bright screen and he has to agree it's a perfect frame of Blair happily looking down at her elaborate glass trophy.

"Sorry. You just looked like you were disappointed with it."

"Shouldn't you be looking at the stage instead of _me_?" she teases him.

"I … uh. Well," he starts, but is interrupted by hushed giggles.

"I'm just messing with you. I know the _click_, _click _draws attention when it's quieter. And I _was_ disappointed, but not with this one. When she looked back up her smile was there, but it was – well, different. She didn't look happy about it anymore."

She clicks a button on her camera and the next photo shows him exactly what she means.

"Kind of breaks your heart, huh?"

_Kind of does_, he thinks.

Daniel returns the camera to the girl, and she continues to flip from one frame to another. "It's like: "Now you see me", and …"

"… "And now you don't"," he agrees.

By the time he looks back at the stage, Blair Waldorf is already gone.

_**When they approach me they see only my surroundings, themselves, or figments of their imagination- indeed, everything and anything except me.**_

**AUTHOR NOTE**: I'm not sure if this scene is the beginning of something bigger, or if it's reached its destination already; I just felt like writing a different take to the infamous "essay competition", so think of it as an experimental balloon. Thanks in advance for taking the time to read it; feel free to drop a word or two in if you want to.


	2. Interval

**DISCLAIMER**: Most of the characters and the universe this story is set in are from Gossip Girl.

She reaches for her bag. "So who are you with?"

"Hm?"

She looks back at Daniel, putting her camera away. "Who were you cheering for?"

"Oh. Right. No, no, no, I was just here to give this teacher a message and decided to stay." Her eyes narrow, as if waiting for further information. "I'm really passionate about writing in general," he shrugs.

"Right, and I don't suppose there was any added bonus in the fact that it was a girls-only constest," she jests. "You study here, then?"

He nods. "St. Jude's, the adjacent school. And you?"

"Oh, my sister goes to Sacred Heart, I was here because of her." She indicates a girl that's coming their way. "I'm Lyla, by the way."

"Daniel. Dan, you can call me Dan," he adds immediately as they shake hands. "It was nice to meet you, Lyla. You're really talented," he says, pointing at the bag where her camera is now safely put.

Her smile is so big now it doesn't seem to fit inside her lips. "Thank you! Actually, I keep a small website with some of my work, so if you want to, you caaan …" she starts scribbling down on a small piece of paper and offers it to Dan, "… take a look at it. Tell the friends. You know, make me famous."

He laughs, trying not to think of the alarmingly low number of people he could talk to about this. "You got it."

Lyla then leaves and rushes to give her sister a hug – Dan wishes he could remember which of the essays belonged to this one, but he honestly can't – and this triggers in him the need to go home and see his family as well. He pulls up his earphones and disappears from the auditorium – it is '06, Snow Patrol is still chasing their cars, the All-American Rejects want you to move along and Daniel Powter's still having a bad day, but it is Tracy Chapman's smooth timbre that guides Dan out of the school gates and well into his way back to Brooklyn.

"Something smells good," he says about an hour later, closing his family loft's door behind him. His sister moans from the kitchen counter.

"Don't _encourage_ him," she pleads Dan, which earns her an admonitory look from their father.

"You've been helping, so technically you're slamming your own work, Missy."

"Dad," Dan warns him, kissing his little sister on the top of her head and sitting next to her. "You know we love you, and because of that you have to promise us that you'll never use 'slamming' in a sentence again. And I mean **never**."

"Or Missy," Jenny nods vehemently and Daniel can't help but laugh. Rufus turns his attention back to the oven, hiding his own smile.

"So how was school?"

"Good," and he's glad he's only partially lying – academically speaking, _good_ is pretty accurate. "Weekend should be pretty light. I'm sorry I was late, there was this thing at the auditorium and I got caught up."

"We know," Jenny says with a smirk, picking up her phone.

"What do you mean, you _know_?"

"Here." She expands the picture of a highly polished black car in front of his school, to the point where the car disappears and Dan's pixelated self appears. "I'd recognize your backpack anywhere," she comments.

He takes the phone and slides the photo back to its original size. "Let me guess, _Gossip Girl_?"

"None other," she exclaims happily.

Dan snorts, exchanging glances with his father. Jenny narrows her eyes. "You know, instead of criticizing it so much, you could actually start using her site to your benefit – there's nothing wrong with actually trying to have a social life."

"Hey, I _have_ a social life."

To their credit, both his father and Jenny do their absolute best to look like they don't pity him.

"Anyway, why bother?" he argues defensively. "If I'm ever in need to know about the lives of the rich and famous, all I have to do is nudge you," he quips, dodging her jab to his arm. He looks at the picture again. "Why did someone take the picture of this car, anyway?"

"That was Blair Waldorf leaving school!" she says, clearly disappointed that she still needs to explain such things to her brother – she'd _kill_ to be in his place right now …

"Blair? That's the girl that won the competition today." He takes another look at the car, thoughtful.

"No offense, Dan, but you're in serious need of my help if the only thing you can remember about Blair at this point is an essay she wrote. Her mother is …"

"I'll be positively thrilled to hear about her mother and every silly detail of her life you can give me," he laughs, setting his sister's phone back on the counter. "On the other hand, I can just take a shower, and we'll have some nice dinner and …"

"Fine!" she says, exasperated. She turns to her father and points at Dan as he's entering his bedroom. "He's hopeless."

"Love you too!" he shouts back.

**AUTHOR NOTE**: This is just a small complement to tie loose ends – while I ended the auditorium scene where I wanted to, there was still room for expanding it. Lyla's an original character, and should make small appearances here and there. I'd like to thank everyone that has contributed with kind words and criticism so far. I'll definitely put some work into this for more chapters, although I haven't still decided how to do it.

Thanks again for your time.


	3. How I Met Your Maid

**DISCLAIMER**: Most of the characters and the universe this story is set in are from Gossip Girl.

"Dan?"

"Yeah, Dad, what's up?"

"How's business today?"

"Pretty calm on my end. This couple looked interested in one of Mitchel's paintings a few minutes ago. They'll call back on Monday."

"Which one?"

"The one that looks like an omelet is giving a pear a ha…"

"Dan," his father warned, only to hear his son laugh.

"Just calling it like I see it, Dad." He was fixing up coffee filters when he noticed the sound of traffic all over his father's voice. "I hear a lot of street noise; are you on your way?"

"Not really, that's why I called you. I had the wrong address for the exhibit – well, right address, wrong exhibit; it's a long story –"

"I'll bet."

"– so I'm going to run a bit late. Would you mind picking up your sister and arranging some dinner for you two? I'll meet you back at the loft."

"Sure. Where is she supposed to be again?" he asks, shouldering a messenger bag and picking up the gallery keys.

"Her sewing workshop," his father answers calmly, as if that was enough. _Man, I love you, but sometimes…_

"Pretty big city, Dad. Any specific coordinates?" he smirks and is instantly glad his father can't see it through the phone.

"Right, that's on 3rd, almost at 94th – it's close to a pet shop, easy to find."

Dan stops on his tracks, getting his bearings. _UES, Jenny, really? _"Couldn't she find a sewing school closer to home?"

"You know Jenny; if it's worth doing it, it's worth overdoing it."

"For the last time, Dad; quoting rock stars _really_ doesn't get your point across as well as you think it does." He pauses. "Although I will admit – just this once, because exceptions are needed in rules – that Jenny would say something like that."

Both men nod simultaneously to Dan's statement and his father laughs over the phone. "I'll change my wisdom quotes when you stop _smirking_. It was cute when you were little; not so much these days."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

* * *

Later, Dan walks out of the subway chewing an apple. According to the texts exchanged with his sister, he still has a little time left and decides to walk the rest of the way, scouting for possibly affordable places to eat around the area – although he'd favor returning to Brooklyn first and dining there, he knows his sister would appreciate the gesture. She loves this _scene_; Daniel (most of the time) just endures it.

It also gives him time to study the people around him and "create" personalities around their appearances – it's good fun, if not a perfect character study. People are, after all, more than meets the eye.

As soon as he plays those words over in his head, he sees a stocky little woman stumble her way out of a shop, her hands holding more than it's physically possible with only ten fingers. Her eyes are wide and studying her surroundings as if she's in a hurry. The woman takes two efficient steps to the right, only to turn back around and head left (towards Dan), hitting two people with the edges of her bags and allowing one of her purchases to fall on the ground.

Faster in reaction than situation assessment, Dan grabs the bag only to see the woman staring at him in shock. The hand that's still fully loaded clutches the handles and she looks ready to whack Dan with them. His eyes dart at her hand and widen in panic.

"No, no, no, no, I'm not trying to steal it!" He puts his other hand (still holding the apple) between them and her eyes narrow suspiciously in turn.

"Contrary to popular belief, there are good people in this city. Here," he offers the hefty volume back, and the woman looks at him with a blend of admiration and sadness when she looks at the weight about to be returned to her. With those extra seconds to study the person in front of him, Dan notices she's impeccably dressed, but the attire itself implies she works with household affairs of some sort. And there's a likeable aura about the woman that tells Dan he'd like to know her stories.

He has been wrong before, though.

"Or you can hand me those as well and I can help you; do you have to go very far?" he blurts, instantly feeling like he's pushing his luck. She looks at him once, twice, sizing up the boy wearing a hoodie under a much worn jacket, from his shoes to his unkempt hair. The woman appears to be confident she can take him down if the need arises; Dan doesn't doubt she can.

"I still have some dry-cleaning to pick up," she says with a hint of suspicion in her voice and a load of Central Europe accent to go with it.

"That's okay."

They stay there staring at each other until Dan smiles; while women can be intimidating in a number of ways to him, fearing a beatdown from a smaller, housemaid-looking lady is just something that doesn't happen every day, and it's happening to him, and the whole thing is just funny. A minute later the rest of his apple enters a trashcan and he's got both hands full of shopping bag, earning continuous staring from his "companion".

"What is your name?" she asks as they cross the street.

"I'm Daniel. Dan." _I have to stop doing that._

He looks at her expectantly. "Dorota," she says simply, and Dan smiles even more.

"Your parents must have been waiting a long time for you."

Her quick, small steps pause, and it's amazing how much she can inquire with just her eyes.

"Your name," Dan says, waiting to see if it sparks a conversation; nothing from her end. "Dorota – it derives from Dorothea, which is the feminine form of Dorotheos – "gift of God". That's what your name means – well, kind of."

Dorota still looks at him, silent.

"Which is why I said your parents –"

" – You talk a lot," she interrupts him, smiling the thinnest of smiles as she resumes her path.

"I have been known to do that," he admits, catching up.

Dan assists Dorota for the next half hour, extracting little to no information about herself or her origins. He does seem to amuse her, it seems; the barrage of nonsense he can pull from random things happening around them gets her to laugh once or twice, and Dan is pleased; considering the unusual situation they're in, that she accepts his company is certainly more than enough.

"We stay here," she finally proclaims, pointing at a fancy apartment building to their left.

"We?" and he has to rush behind her to enter the elevator.

_Clearly she already accepts my arms as extra hangers_.

No sooner the doors are open, Dorota is giving orders in rapid succession and two, three extra servants remove Dan of all the bags he's holding. It's all so quick and deliberate action that doesn't require any input from him that he _really_ feels like a piece of furniture before Dorota turns to him, satisfied.

"Well? Don't just stand there, come!" and disappears to the left, forcing him to, again, run after her, not paying much attention to the apartment he's entering.

"Actually, Dorota, I should probably go, I still have to meet my … what is this?"

She's holding an open box filled with fancy little cakes. Her eyes are kinder than they were when Dan met her, and she smiles like a mother would to a son. "To thank for help. And take one for your sister! Go on, now!"

For once, Dan is speechless. He smiles back, chooses two of the cakes and nods. "That's incredibly kind, Dorota, thank you."

"Nie, dziękuję!" she's quick to answer, and Dan makes a mental note to study a bit of Slavic languages.

He never sees the brunette with a fancy headband entering the building after he crosses the street.

* * *

The boy finds Jenny already waiting for him. Her impatience lasts only the seconds it takes for Dan to show her the candy, put an arm around her shoulder and ask her where she wants to have dinner.

**AUTHOR NOTE**: I love Dorota – who doesn't, really? Feel free to contribute with ideas for chapters/scenes; this is pretty open-ended as it is, and I'll do my best to add what I can, when I can into the frame. Thanks for taking the time to read it, review if you'd like. I hope you have a blessed week.


	4. The Pledge

**DISCLAIMER**: Most of the characters and the universe this story is set in are from Gossip Girl.

"Dan, what are you doing?" Jenny asks him in hushed urgency.

"What does it look like?"

There's sound of pen scratching paper next to her. Jenny rolls her eyes, looking around and waiting for other people to notice. "I can't believe you're writing this down," she whispers, irritated.

"It was an amazing line; could be inspirational for a story someday."

"Couldn't you just wait to get home and check, I don't know, IMDb for it? Oh, wait, even better; there are these things called cellphones, Dan, and you can use them to – look, _magic_! – it records things!"

"You're drawing more attention with your phone than I was with my notes," he chuckles as silently as he can, putting the small item back in his pocket, satisfied. "Now, shush! You're missing the movie. And hogging the popcorn," he adds, looking back at the screen.

"Tell me again why I accepted to come see this movie with you," she huffs, silently amazed that Dan could've copied that much information so fast.

"Hugh Jackman. And Christian Bale. I think."

"Right. You wanted to watch it because you like_ magic_, not because Scarlett Johansson's in it."

"Rebecca Hall's hotter."

"_Dan_."

"She's a different kind of hot. You wouldn't understand."

"Says the dude that has to bring his sister to the movies because he doesn't have a date," she whispers, which earns her a slight shove.

They both smile, mouths full of popcorn.

A Humphrey's movie night is always entertaining.

* * *

Several miles from the movie theater a different kind of magic is on display, as a delicately dressed girl enters her bedroom with phone in hand, shutting the door behind her. She's having her patience tested, and so far Blair Waldorf is amazed she held her tone this polite for so long.

"Could you, _please_, stop shrilling like a chihuahua, Penelope?" Blair demands for what feels like the eleventh time since that phone call began. "Being called 'Queen Bitch' on occasion does not mean I'm versed in dog-speak."

The other end of the line is suddenly mute. Blair sighs. "Go on."

"You don't understand, Blair…"

"Clearly." Blair's parents never had to take a call from Constance's teachers about her lack of school progress. And as long as she had a say in it, they never would.

"You should have seen the look on my mother's face. She was _furious_! Not all the Botox in the world hides that kind of expression."

"Honestly, I'm just surprised that they didn't see this coming," Blair adds, setting her headband down to let her curls slightly looser. "You've always had average grades – what's more, _you_ don't seem to care about it. I always assumed your parents adopted a similar posture."

At the other end of the call, Penelope's eyes are barely visible slits. It takes all the strength in her body not to tell _Princess Waldorf_ a few truths.

"And I fail to see why you're making such a big deal about this, Penelope. Tutelage isn't torture. Not legally, at least. What do you want from me?"

"I want what you always have better than everyone else's."

"I don't see how borrowing my dresses would help you. Well, I do, but not particularly in this case."

"I meant _information_."

"Oh." Blair has to admit that it was a nice compliment; because of it, she decides to go the extra mile and end this conversation nicely. "What kind of information?"

"Abernathy assigned me this guy I never even _heard of_ to tutor me." Penelope pauses to check a note written in what appears to be molten fury – her mother's handwriting. "Who the hell is Dan Humphrey?"

And then, something Blair Waldorf isn't familiarized with happens: she's caught off guard.

_Who?_

* * *

Dan and Jenny enter the family loft and find it empty.

"He did say he'd be a little late tonight," she reasons, dropping her bag.

_He always does when Mom calls_, Dan thinks, but nods with what passes for an understanding grin. No one is discussing the "Mother" issue and Dan knows it's best to keep it like that – at least until anyone actually knows what to say.

"I'll just text him so he knows we're home," Dan says. "You've been quiet; didn't you like the movie? I promise we can choose something chick-flicky next time."

Jenny laughs. "You make it sound as if you don't like those."

"Ha. Ha."

"No, there was nothing wrong with it. Just kind of makes you think."

"Should I get you a deck of cards, a top hat and a white bunny?" he teases.

"A white bunny with a top hat would be nice," she muses happily, "but I meant 'think' about passion. How much people are truly willing to sacrifice to get what they want – or where they want to be."

* * *

"For the last time, Waldorf, a devil's three-way is completely off the table."

"_Ew_. **Ew**. And _**Ew**_. Do you even listen to yourself when you say these things, Chuck?"

"It keeps things fresh," he laughs.

"Not when you use them as substitutes for a simple 'hello'," she quips, adding an extra note of aristocracy at the end.

"Prude."

"Whore."

He pauses for a little while, nodding. "_Touché_. How can I be of service this fine evening? Nathaniel's not here, if that's what you need."

"Do you happen to know a Dan Humphrey?"

"Who?"

Blair sighs. _Figures. If it's not a harlot's name, why bother, eh Chuck? _"Penelope's been assigned a tutor for Literature –"

"– I'm surprised it's just for Literature –"

"– and since we didn't know who he was I thought I'd ask you about him."

"Did you try Gossip Girl?"

"Of course."

"And?"

"_Nada_."

Chuck lets out a low whistle. "Then he simply doesn't exist in our circles. They must've given her a wrong name."

"Well, Penelope's mother wrote it down. It's entirely possible," she nods.

"Evil."

"Professionals have _standards_," she quips. "Well, Penelope's probably still hyperventilating, so I'll give her another call and calm her down. Tomorrow I'll ask Abernathy to tutor her myself."

"No one's more suited for the task."

"No point in flattering me, Bass," Blair laughs.

"Too true. And I see this lovely thing walking to the bar that would be much more appreciative of my –"

"I'm hanging up now."

* * *

Dan's bedroom welcomes him like a long lost friend. He sits down, reading over the words that drew him so profoundly at the beginning of the movie.

_There's definitely a story in here. Somewhere._

"But not tonight," he says, finding his way to bed. He keeps his earphones on for a while, Coltrane's "Body and Soul" easing his body into the night as his eyes slowly close.

As Dan's falling asleep, Blair's phone rings .

"B?"

"S!" and Blair's tone is completely different, even if only from that spark of a single letter. "Where have you been?"

"Oh, just finding the perfect dress for _you_ to wear at the Shepherd wedding," her friend almost sings. "You'll look perfect!"

Blair giggles, molding the sheets around her like a delighted child. _That's Serena for you. _"It's just another wedding, Serena. We went to at least a dozen of those just this season."

They continue to chat animatedly. Daniel frowns lightly in his sleep. And everywhere you look, this is just another New York night.

"_**Every great magic trick consists of three parts or acts. The first part is called "The Pledge".  
The magician shows you something ordinary: a deck of cards, a bird or a man.  
He shows you this object.  
Perhaps he asks you to inspect it to see if it is indeed real, unaltered, normal.**_

_**But of course... it probably isn't."**_

**AUTHOR NOTE**: I apologize in advance if there's some confusion during the reading – the changing from one scene to another helped me establish how things happened (at least in my head). Thank you for taking the time to read this, and special thanks to everyone who reviewed, gave this a favorite or a follow.

Dan wrote down an early quote from "The Prestige", if that's not clear by now. And no, the quote does not end there. *hints*

Have a great Sunday.


	5. Our Quiet Halls

**DISCLAIMER**: Most of the characters and the universe this story is set in are from Gossip Girl.

"Are you sure?"

"Aren't I always?"

Blair side-eyes Chuck for a brief moment.

"Last New Year's party doesn't count," he adds as an afterthought, to Blair's amusement.

"I can think of at least a dozen other –"

"– Can we just agree that I couldn't be wrong about something as simple as _this_?" he sneers, gesturing to indicate a student sitting alone. "Unless he's a con artist interested solely in studying at St. Jude's, that's your Daniel Humphrey. I had to ask a teacher," he scoffs.

Blair doesn't miss the mockery when he says "your", but it's such a _Chuck_ thing to do she chooses to ignore and remain silent, still observing Dan from the other side of an empty study hall. _Jesus, what it is with boys these days and their battle with a simple hair comb?_

"Well, this should be quick and painless," she declares. "Now, go. You can have Nate for the afternoon."

"We still have to renegotiate custody, Waldorf," he laughs, as she's already walking away from him.

He appears too busy with the notes he's taking to perceive the brunette's quick steps making a beeline towards his table. Only when the corner of Dan's left eye gets filled with her blurred frame he's properly startled, suddenly recognizing the girl from the competition a few days ago.

"Hey," he starts, setting his notes down, "you're –"

"– going to be brief." Her kind smile doesn't fully extend to her eyes. Blair doesn't even sit. "You're Daniel Humphrey, right?"

"… Yes?"

"I'm Blair Waldorf…"

"Yeah, I know, you –"

"… and I just wanted to let you know I'll take your place with Penelope Shafai's tutoring."

"– look like you're not going to let me finish a sentence," he laughs. She doesn't. Dan's silently wondering why Abernathy changed his mind so quickly, having only told Dan about Penelope's need of help a few hours earlier that day. "Okay, then, sure – wait, did he tell you why?"

"… _Who_ told me _what_?"

"Professor Abernathy," Dan replies a little slower. "He told me about Penelope just this morning – did he get the names wrong? Does he want me to tutor someone else?"

Blair just stands there looking at him, and he's afraid the barrage of questions broke some invisible rule of conversations with people you don't exactly know.

The truth is that Blair never expected _him_ to question _her_.

"I'm sure he had his reasons," she says simply. Dan stares a little too much then shrugs, looking back at his notes.

"Well, less work for me, I guess. I'll talk to him tomorrow. And thanks for letting me know," he adds, truly smiling. _Bossy, but okay._

"Why would you talk to him? I just explained to you the change." Her tone is slightly more commanding now.

"I know – I just want to make sure that I'm not supposed to be tutoring someone else. And if we're getting technical here", he raises his pen absent-mindedly, aiming Blair, "you _informed_ me of the change. There was zero explanation in there," he laughs again. "I was just kidding."

She's not amused, it seems. Sighing, Blair sits in front of him. "Look, I didn't really want to tell you this, but Penelope doesn't want you as her tutor."

"I don't think I've ever met her," he exclaims after a brief silence.

"Well, that's kind of the point. She doesn't want people to know she's in need of a little assistance," she waves her hand as if Dan knows what she's talking about.

"So she doesn't want people to know, but she told _you_?" he points at the girl, disbelief in his eyes. Blair's dignity doesn't let her answer; she knows some of her minions are hopeless.

She also tries not to think about letting Chuck in on the story.

"Well, she sure needs help writing her plots. Best of luck with that."

Against her better judgment, Blair laughs. "It's more of a trust issue, really. She doesn't know you, that's all."

"With the board you're painting of her social disposition, I'm sure it's my loss," he says with a snort. Blair almost smiles. _Tough crowd._

They stare at each other briefly. "You haven't talked to Abernathy at all, have you?" he asks her.

Seconds go by and Dan starts to wonder if he made a terrible mistake with his choice of words. Blair leans back on her chair, arms crossed, studying him.

"No." One word and she manages to say it frankly, even defiantly.

"It would have been more practical, I think."

"How so?"

"Well, I'm sure if you carefully explained that you could help her yourself, he would understand."

"What if he assigned some other boy from St. Jude's? They've been really pushing this co-ed thing these last few months."

"I'm not sure he would."

"Why is that?"

"Trust me on this one." "He pauses again, closing his notebook and smiling. "But I suppose if you don't take the time to make awkward conversations with complete strangers, you're not living life the right way, so… again, thanks for letting me know."

He stands up, checking his phone's clock; Blair continues to look at him and Dan can't help thinking this is what a microorganism feels when under a microscope.

Blair allows him a small grin this time. "Humphrey, is it?"

He nods. "It was nice to meet you, _Waldorf_," Dan adds, amused by the girl's sternness.

She watches Dan's back until he disappears, with an approving smirk.

"It was nice to meet you too," she says quietly, once Dan is way out of hearing range.

**AUTHOR NOTE**: And they met, at last. Post a comment when you can to let me know how that went. Thanks again to everyone that reviewed or gave this a favorite/follow. Be seeing ya.


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